


Survival Curve

by onepieceofharry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Draco Malfoy-centric, Except maybe a lil bit dumbledore, Gen, Hogwarts Fourth Year, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mostly Gen, No character bashing, Plot, Tags to be added, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18484945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepieceofharry/pseuds/onepieceofharry
Summary: Lucidity slammed into him like an offended hippogriff. He's shorter because he's younger. Pansy is shrill and sobbing at his hurt like she used to before Draco snapped their bond in a bid to keep her away. Snape is at his side where he should be at the head table, and Pomfrey is fussing where she should be killing.He had known this only vaguely, where now he knew it true.His head snapped up and he let himself stare into corpses.OrDraco Malfoy goes back in time and promptly falls on his face.





	1. Something You Already Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Starting a fic in the middle of writing another fic? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> To expand upon the summary this is a Draco Malfoy time travel fic where a teenager who's lived under the regime of a maniac finally finds safety and yet...if he doesn't do anything the maniac comes back and he's in trouble again. This will mostly be something of a recovery fic with a focus on Draco and his attitudes but, then, plot also happens. Draco is still prejudiced, he's still a huge coward (he bent the laws of time and space to escape uh), and he's very dramatic. Less of an ass though and getting better. 
> 
> Drarry tag is there as a warning. This will mostly be a gen fic but some people are vehemently against the pairing and I respect that, however I don't want to be tied down to just gen if/when i want to explore the dynamics of romance. Pansy/Draco mentioned.
> 
> Okay. It might also be plot heavy. Sue me.

"Draco!"

Alarm roared through him and Draco jerked into consciousness at the shrill voice. Pansy was supposed to be at Hogwarts, she couldn't be here. It's not safe here. 

But when Draco finally wrestled his eyes open he fully realized just how discombobulated he was. The magic ceiling in the great hall met his eyes, starry and wonderfully familiar. Ragged stone pressed into his back, never laying quite flat enough for Draco's taste and always tripping him up when his steps weren't tall enough. Madam Pomfrey entered his line of sight, waving a wand around while she asked him inane questions with a tense upper lip.

"-Mr. Malfoy, I need you to answer me now."

Draco coughed and sat up quickly, only to lower himself back down when the stars above him refused to keep their shape.

"Listen to Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Malfoy." 

That was Snape, also next to him and wrangling a struggling Pansy away from his side.

Pansy was sobbing.

"What's wrong." Draco demanded, shoving feet under him but standing up slowly. He moved towards Pansy but the matron quickly bullied him into sitting on the bench next to him, shooing students sat down at the table to give him space.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to purse her lips harder. "Memory loss I suppose."

_Memory loss?_

Oh. 

Draco doubled over gasping, pressing a hand to his mouth as exhilaration turned his stomach. Pomfrey crowded him, concern writ on her face where there should only be disgust.

_Pansy's voice did seem a bit pitchier than usual._

Draco jerked his head up and surveyed the great hall, flushing when he saw the crowd that watched him in turn. 

A much larger crowd than Hogwarts usually is.

_Fourth year._

The blending of uniforms could attest to that, if not the added members that sit at the head table. 

_Dumbledore is alive._

Draco ducked his head.

"Sorry," he said, hoping to wave away the eyes that continued to stare at him, "did I faint?"

Pomfrey, if possible, frowned harder. It was Pansy who answered.

"Draco," she whispered, voice hoarse, "you were screaming."

Well, that shouldn't have been a side effect.

"Mr. Malfoy, I _need_ you to answer me. How do you feel?"

_How I feel?_

"I'm okay."

"You were screaming for almost a full minute, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape cut in, "we're going to need more information than that."

_A full minute? That shouldn't have happened._

Draco shrugged at Snape who scowled at his non-answer.

"Madam Pomfrey, what can you tell us?"

The mediwitch straightened her back. "When he was convulsing the diagnostic spell said that every nerve in his body was active. It's my belief that..." Pomfrey faltered, mouth turned down so far it must be painful, "It looks like the cruciatus curse."

Ah. She was horrified.

_That_ was not supposed to happen.

Whispers buzzed to life through the hall. Draco swallowed.

"Right." Snape said, remarkably ineloquent. "He should go to the hospital wing."

Pomfrey gained some life in her at the words and started to move her wand in a familiar motion.

"I can walk!" Draco yelled, ducking out of the levitation spell.

His balance was shot, as he quickly found out, and he had to steady himself on the table. Pansy made a wounded sound and his eyes met hers.

He had to look up to do so.

_I'm shorter?_

_That's why my balance is off._

Lucidity slammed into him like an offended hippogriff. He's shorter because he's younger. Pansy is shrill and sobbing at his hurt like she used to before Draco snapped their bond in a bid to keep her away. Snape is at his side where he should be at the head table, and Pomfrey is fussing where she should be killing.

He had known this only vaguely, where now he knew it true.

His head snapped up and he let himself stare into corpses.

The mudbloods are all there, whispering or gawking at him but _there._ There too are kids he met under the service of the Dark Lord, Durmstang students still not yet old enough to apparate mingled in with the rest of Hogwart's students. He saw people who would cast vile curses that would have blood drench his ancestral home, or others who's blood had been victims. The Beaubatons students largely stayed quiet and away from the war but those from rich families had seen themselves used as bargaining chips, their mere existence as leverage to force the wealthy french purebloods to fund the Dark Lord's war. Most of them Draco never saw, but a few others were forced to make appearances at certain gatherings, dressed as their stature commands while consorting with people who could kill them at any moment. The gatherings were dreadful, pureblood poise holding as steady as children could manage when they were threatened, dehumanised, and humiliated by wizards beyond mad.

Draco had been one of them, he knew all too well what it felt like to be poked and prodded and played with for the amusement of death eaters. Just to watch their family squirm.

They looked at him now, wide-eyed and hungry for gossip. So unbelievably young, for all that some of them were older than Draco.

A shivering started in his chest but Draco forced himself not to show it. Instead he turned his gaze to the piercing eyes of the man he'd tried to kill, and instead saw killed.

Albus Dumbledore was frowning at him, but not overly concerned. It still shook Draco so completely he's surprised his legs stayed under him.

Draco couldn't control the instinct to wrap his arms around himself then, desperately trying to keep himself together in the face of a reality that should be long dead. He's the one who decided time reversal was the only feasible escape, he's the one who slaved over the ruins and arithmacy and scattered timeturners until his cheekbones carved sharply in his face and dark circles found companionship above them.

He did this, but he didn't actually consider what he would do if it worked.

The pressure of his self-embrace irritated a long forgotten pain on his arm and Draco hissed and pulled away, shocked at the sting.

His Dark Mark had ached for weeks after his joining, but beyond that it only ached when his master called. It hurt now, like it had just been freshly carved and Draco itched to check if it really was there or if it was some kind of phantom pain. Fortunately for him, he had the wherewithal not to rip off his sleeve in the exact place a Dark Mark would show in the middle of the great hall full of potentially vengeful corpses.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. "Mr. Malfoy-"

"Yes. Hospital wing. I'm on it."

Draco staggered out of the great hall, having a terrible time with balance but refusing the helping hand the matron kept trying to lend him only to have his shoulder grabbed and steadied when Snape's patience ran out. The two marched him down endless corridors that Draco thought he would never see again, or never want to see again seeing as they might be strewn with bodies. Or blood. Though that did happen in second year anyways...

"Please sit down, Mr. Malfoy," the matron said and Draco startled as he realised they'd already arrived at the wing.

Snape didn't let him make the decision for himself and soon he was seated, fiddling with his sleeve and trying to look as unsuspicious as possible.

"Have a sip, dear." Pomfrey said much too close to his ear. Draco startled and jumped, knocking the goblet of water she'd been giving him to the floor.

Draco sucked in a breath at the loud crash. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as both Pomfrey and Snape snapped to stare at him, the matron pressing a hand to head to check for fever.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

Snape turned to look at Pomfrey but she just shook her head, casting a spell to conjure a new goblet of clean water.

"Here you go, dear. Please tell me if anything starts hurting again."

Draco nodded. "Thank you."

The twin stares returned and Draco choked on his water in realisation.

_I wasn't polite in fourth year._

To be fair, he'd never been polite to Madam Pomfrey but it had grown quite instinctual to be courteous in the last few months when a careless tongue could mean a lost hand.

Or head.

Choosing to shut his mouth until he could actually think his situation through ( _to the_ very end _Draco, for once_ ) he sipped the goblet and watched Professor Snape confer with Pomfrey just a step away.

In the end it was decided that Draco would sleep there tonight, as he predicted seeing as it's Pomfrey's usual treatment, and that they would talk about the incident in the morning.

Then, thank Merlin, he was alone.

He'd done it. Draco Malfoy had magicked his way to safety in the most ridiculous and contrived plot to ever exist but by Salazar he was here, and he was whole.

Well, almost whole.

Draco bit his lip and grabbed his wand, casting _lumos_. With an extreme amount of hesitation even for Draco, he ripped the sleeve of his left arm down to the elbow and was simultaneously panicked and unsurprised at what he saw.

His mark. Raw and red at the edges but familiar all the same.


	2. Existentialism is a Disease

"Draco," mother whispered, "how do you feel?"

"I'm fine, mother." Draco said, secretly relishing in how strong his mother's grip felt. 

His mother made cooing noises, stroking delicate fingers through his hair. Fourteen year-old him would have pushed her away, and Draco knew he should do the same if he wanted to pass unnoticed, but the last time he saw his mother she was illness wrapped in fear, barely daring to touch him and bring any unwanted attention.

His father was a different story.q It was difficult to reconcile the man in front of him with the one he saw only a few days ago; swallow and crawling for any favour he could possibly gain from his lord.

Draco never wanted to see that man again...but the one in front of him was hard to see too. This was the man he'd worshipped; strong and poised and ambitious, eyes constantly seeking any opportunity claim a victory over someone else. But the awe and respect he'd felt as a child couldn't be found, instead just an unease that made him twitchy and uncomfortable every time his father moved.

It was not boding well for trying to act like himself. Loving his father was half of Draco's personality at Hogwarts. At least he has his mother.

Snape, Pomfrey, and Dumbledore were lined up by the door, letting his parents have a moment with him before they jump him. Apparently suspecting an unforgivable was used on a student is call for action in this time. Where he'd come from it had been as commonplace as afternoon tea.

Draco blinked and shook his head. He'd thought long and hard about the possible consequences last night instead of sleeping, though truly, he'd thought if he went to sleep he'd wake up in the present. Or the future. Does it even exist anymore? Is there still a mother who will miss him? Who would wonder where he went? Who would wonder if he died?

_No_ , Draco decided, reaching out a hand to grip his mother's. _The spell doesn't work like that, and my mother is right here._

"Mr. Malfoy," Came a voice he'd always resented, "can you go over the events of last night? From your own perspective?"

His father sneered, inching away as the headmaster joined his bedside. Draco attempted to do the same, but it came out a grimace. He couldn't even meet the headmaster's gaze. Apparently the guilt of trying and failing to kill the man was another obstacle he'd have to get over. 

"Not really. I only remember waking up staring at the ceiling." Honesty as much as he could give would be best, Draco was shite at lying.

_Some Slytherin._

The adults exchanged wordless looks.

"But you feel fine? No aches or pains?"

Draco shook out his limbs and expertly hid any reaction to the rough scrape of fabric across his dark mark. "No. I feel completely fine."

The professors traded pinched looks. Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose we need to call the aurors."

Draco flinched, swallowing around the fear that instinctively shot through him. Aurors were used by the Dark Lord, but discretely. They came with the ministry when it was completely infiltrated, but when the regime change became more and more obvious there was... confusion. Having a few dozen master wizards torn between duty to the ministry and their own morality made for chaos and violence that the Dark Lord rejoiced in, laughing as they culled eachother to his command.

"No." He blurted unthinkingly.

What was wrong with him?

"Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said, crouching down so she was eye-level with him on the bed (finally Draco could muster his sneer), "it's my professional opinion you were put under the cruciatus curse. I believe because of the aburptness of the assualt as well as the duration caused your brain to repress the experience."

"However much you remember, the fact remains that an Unforgivable was used at Hogwarts." Snape cut in, "Which means a crime involving the Dark Arts was committed, and aurors need to be brought in to investigate."

"The fact that any of this happened at all is truly a testament to Hogwarts safety," his father spit. "A werewolf employed last year and now this? I find your work to be less than exemplary Professor Dumbledore."

"Any father in your position would say the same." Dumbledore nodded, daring to reach out and pat his father consolingly.

"Uh," Draco said with the eloquence of a knat, "we don't really have to bother the ministry with this."

The group of adults focus on him again and it's all Draco can do not to bash his skull into the nearest hard surface. Hello, yes, Draco Malfoy doesn't want to bother anyone with the fact that he was 'cursed' because he's just oh-so conscientious of wasted ministry resources. He may as well have just used those bloody Weasley fireworks to spell "suspicious" above his head.

"Is there something you want to tell us, my boy?" And damnit all, Draco still couldn't meet the headmaster's eyes.

"It's just-" Draco fidgeted, knowing he exuded guilt in every breath but unable to stop, "I'm sure it was just a hex gone wrong. I wouldn't want to send some second-year to Azkaban over this."

It _might_ have been a halfway believable excuse if he'd been anyone other than a Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey seemed to buy it at least.

"Mr. Malfoy," still crouching beside him, the matron took his hand, "the only curse in the world that targets your pain receptors directly and leaves no mark is the cruciatus. And you have to want to do harm to be able to cast it."

Draco frowned, considering. Is the cruciatus the only curse that targets the nerves? Just a quick rundown of some of the nastier curses in his repertoire told him no. Why was _crucio_ an unforgivable when those were considered just normal Dark curses? Plenty of them were inarguably worse than the cruciatus, Draco's least favourite being the one that conjures a live hive of hornets inside the lungs of the victim. To compare that to the cruciatus and Draco would take the _crucio_ if only for the knowledge he'd be able to live afterwards. Of course, the crucio didn't kill people despite how much it hurts. 

It doesn't leave a mark.

_A mark._

Taking the Dark Mark had felt like a _crucio_ , though he hadn't really noticed at the time. Is that what happened? He was rebranded with his Mark in the middle of the great hall despite it being two years before he would've originally taken it? His arm suddenly felt heavy.

The arm that was currently inflamed and attached to the hand Madam Pomfrey was squeezing. 

Horrified, Draco just barely managed to stop himself from wrenching his hand away. He's acted suspicious enough without suddenly hating getting his hand held. Oh. Okay maybe he should have jerked away from Pomfrey from the beginning. Was it too late? It was certainly out of character, if what he can vaguely remember how he treated her in third year with his hippogriff scratch.

Too late, Madam Pomfrey pulled away with a soft pat. 

"The aurors will be here soon." Snape said, pinching his nose.

Merlin take him, he was so screwed.

***

Draco didn't actually have a lot to say to the aurors, being a technical child he didn't have any enemies and he wasn't conscious at the time of his "attack". The aurors were intimidating, but Draco suspects they send some of the milder ones when there are children involved so all-in-all he made it out okay.

His parents were needed for further questioning (the aurors going to obvious route and deciding someone had hurt Draco to get to Lucius), but thankfully they'd decided to take that conversation back to the manor. He'd been kissed goodbye with a promise to write home more and left to sleep.

Draco had been dismissed from classes that day, and thank Salazar because he needed the time to _think._

He was in the past, already in trouble, and not handling it well.

Draco took several deep breaths, sat up in bed and flattened down a section of bedding.

Less than twenty-four hours ago Draco used a complicated ritual to return to the past. Somehow, he succeeded, and arrived in fourth year. It was after Christmas, as he'd found out when Pomfrey forced him to answer simple questions to test his memory and he'd utterly cocked up (which is why he's sequestered in the hospital wing until further notice. Ugh.)

His body experienced a great pain when Draco entered the past, as well as his Mark returned with him. Draco didn't remember any of this, which... frightened him greatly. Was the person Pansy saw screaming just an empty shell experiencing a pain like a _crucio_? Or was that him, year four, feeling trumendous pain and then being completely taken over by another consciousness? Had Draco technically...killed someone? Killed the person Draco was in fourth year and replaced him with someone different? Would it be accurate to say the person Draco was in fourth year _was_ someone completely different than current Draco? 

Or maybe the spell just...gave fourth year Draco all the memories present Draco had, making past Draco _think_ that he's lived those three years and that he's changed accordingly, but he's actually still the same boy just with added context. That would mean that future Draco had died, or been undone, when he'd done the spell. 

Draco considered, ignoring the heavy beating of his heart, and disregarded the idea. The Dark Mark on his arm proves one thing at least; his soul is his own. The Dark Mark cannot be removed because it's a brand on the very soul itself. It would make sense Draco had taken it back with him, even if it did make his stomach curl.

That left Draco taking over the life of a past him. Yes, that was what he'd intended (it's _his_ life after all), but the idea of a fourth year him existing as he was, only to find himself in immesurable pain and then ceasing to exist...disgusts him. What had this body been thinking twenty four hours ago? What was for supper? His father's last owl? How well he would do on his next potions? And then it was abruptly cut short by a future mistake.

Draco shook his head, laying his palms flat on the bed. Such thoughts were unproductive, and detrimental to his goal: assimilation. 

Draco was here, had taken a desperate gambit, because he was in constant danger where he'd been before. Day after day of uncertainty, of being called upon not knowing if he'd be forced to hurt someone or be the one hurt. Not knowing if his family still lived, seeing as they only ever lived by the grace of a madman. He'd seen, and done, and had things done to him so unspeakable that Draco refused to name them even in his thoughts. He wasn't safe there: no one was.

He was safe here. After months of anguish he'd found safety again, and he was going to keep it.

So, he'd blend in. Act like a Draco Malfoy of this time would, and enjoy being able to step outside and breathe the air whenever he wanted. Maybe he'd use just the littlest bit of knowledge for his own gain; do better in class and share a bit of gossip before anyone else, things like that. But generally he'd be the same.

And then...well he'd find a place in this world _away_ from violence and war. He'd become a potions master or something, Snape would be thrilled. He'd find a wife and have children and come home to a wealthy home and a massive bed and there would always be food on the table.

He'd live. Because he's safe.

Draco didn't want to stay in the hospital wing anymore. Sneaking out when Madam Pomfrey used the loo, Draco took the corridors and traced the stone with his fingertips. He'd never cared for Hogwarts beyond tradition, never cared for the castle beyond it being the place his father and his father's father had studied in. 

The castle was fairly beautiful; classic wizarding motif. The kind that feels old and powerful, but kind of grimy. It's no surprise Gryffindor house thrives in this castle, the walls practically beg the students to play in the mud like ruffians. 

No. That wasn't right.

Draco shook his head and put his hand more firmly on the stone. _The castle is beautiful._

Perhaps time travel made one existential.

Draco made his way deeper into the castle, finding comfort in the walls and the quiet hallways. All the students were in class, even the foreign visitors. Through great arched windows Draco can see the snow on the ground, dirty and hard packed through many footprints. The sun was out, and soon the snow will melt into a spring Draco had already seen. It's a very strange feeling, feeling like Draco knew more than the seasons do.

Draco groaned. It's official; time travel made one existential.


	3. Ignoring Isn't Smart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't fully read through this one last time because I made the ending at different times so I hope there's no errors. I'll fix it later if there is lmao
> 
> Edit: yup! Whole ass setups were missing! I'm sure that was very confusing for everyone and I don't know how that happened. It all came from the same document?? A whatever it's fixed now. Thanks for reading! New chapter soon

When Draco fantasized about the past it often took the form of omissions. He'd live a life without the Dark Lord, without Aunt Bellatrix, without a father who couldn't calm his shaking hands or a mother who couldn't comfort him. He'd be free of all those things, and he'd be free in the true sense as well.

But he hadn't thought about what would replace those things, how he would fill his day.

Now Draco, well, he didn't regret his lack of foresight per se, considering it was a wizarding miracle he was here at all, but he certainly could admit he wasn't prepared in the slightest to find himself in the past.

A routine he didn't remember asserted itself the second Draco was expected to rejoin classes, making him scramble to find his timetable and refamiliarize himself with a schedule he didn't recognize and subjects he'd long forgotten. Apparently having a higher education than his year-level meant shit when he couldn't remember the theory behind seasonal transfiguration factors. Needless to say, his performance in class was not up to Malfoy standards.

Draco pretended he wasn't grateful.

Spending every waking minute trying to catch up on schoolwork meant that he could ignore the students who'd layed dead in his home, or the teacher who'd been eaten by the snake, or the headmaster that smiled at the man who would murder him. _Ignoring_ was the thing keeping him sane, keeping him from whipping his wand out every time Moody passes by or Dumbledore claps Snape on the back.

It was strange to be in the past; a mixture of nostalgia and culture shock. A contradiction that would make Draco want to rip open his head if he wasn't so good at ignoring. The castle and the routine and the adequate quality food all provided Draco with a strange warmth, but the openness around him, the way people lived without fear and without thinking or measuring a word they said put him right back on edge. 

People _acted_ different, and Draco knew he should be doing the same. From his first day at classes he'd been quieter, being such a ruddy liar he didn't want to call attention to himself but being quiet did just that. People asked him how he was doing, if he still hurt, how it had felt. Merlin, they dogged his steps to ask their questions, which was a piss poor help to his quest to ignore everything.  
Crabbe and Goyle unnerved him extremely in that regard. Having the duo always two steps behind him filled him with such unanticipated fondness as well as paranoia.

It's easier if he ignored it.

"Are you _listening_ to me?" Pansy all but shrieked in his ear.

"Er," Draco said, jerking his potions assignment away from the candle Pansy was holding over his head, "no."

Pansy scowled and set the candle holder down roughly on the desk Draco was using, splashing a bit of wax on the wood. "What's wrong with you lately? All you do is schoolwork."

Draco shrugged, fanning the wax to cool it and peal it off the wood. "I have to study."

Pansy considered for a moment then gasped, tugging away Draco's assignment and throwing herself into his lap. Draco choked, holding his hands up in a kind of surrender trying desperately to remember if they'd somehow started dating earlier than he remembered.

"Is this about that damned mudblood?" Pansy pouted. With a moment's hesitation she snaked her arms up around his neck, "you _know_ you're smarter than her, Draco. I don't care what kind of marks she gets, these professors are all fools if they think someone like her could compete with you." 

That was another thing that's changed; the conviction and surety in her words. In the time Draco had left behind espousing blood purity wasn't something one just said out of the blue, it was always measured in response to a test of loyalty. A cavalier statement of superiority was both an expression of too much individuality as well as uncordial in the presence of their Lord. In meetings one could express excitement about killing or torturing mudbloods but that was the crux of it: hatred towards mudbloods and muggles was the focus on the Dark Lord's ideology, less so towards wizarding superiority and bettering the wizarding world. 

It didn't sit right with Draco then, to feel like he was courting danger every time he said anything about a worldview that had shaped him, a worldview the Dark Lord's followers supposedly shared. 

He pushed away the memories as he had all week, though it was markedly easier to focus on something else considering Pansy was now trailing her fingers down his chest.

"Pansy," Draco bit out, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks as he searched for a method of shoving her off. Everywhere he looked seemed dangerous so he just kept his hands in the air. "Get off."

Pansy sniffed, settling back on his lap to cross her arms disdainfully, though it at least gave him some breathing room. "I don't know why you're so cold lately. You took me to the Yule Ball." Pansy smirked and encroached closer once more, "don't you think it's time we made it official?"

Decidedly _not_ wanting to know how Pansy intended to officiate their relationship Draco shoved away from the desk and stood up abruptly, still keeping his hands in the air. Pansy landed hard on the floor and Draco winced, knowing he wouldn't hear the end of it for a long time yet.

"I'm not, uh," Draco coughed, leaning away as Pansy set a glare on him so feral he's suprised it didn't kill him, "I'm not going to be dating anyone this year. Or the next, probably." 

_And dating you probably never._

He just- he didn't want to.

Pansy pursed her lips and Draco was shocked to observe they were trembling, a watery glaze in her eyes.

"Fine," she snapped, dusting off her robes and fetching the parchment he'd dropped in their scuffle, "then finish your work. It's _potions_ , you should be able to beat the mudblood in that at least."

In his current state, it was highly unlikely he'd get better marks than Granger but Pansy didn't stay for a rebuttal, just turning in her heel and marching away from him as quickly as she could.

***

He didn't get better marks than Granger. He got some of the worst marks he'd ever gotten in his life and it was only through Snape's biases that he reached just above the number that would've had his father sending him a howler.

_I can break time but I can't cram for potions?_

Draco breathed slowly, letting himself shake out any emotion. If he was being honest with himself...he didn't actually care that much. He knew he _should,_ that his marks would define the new life he needed to build, but apathy and indifferent was really all he felt, with maybe the softest edge of dissapointment.

__

Pansy, on the other hand, was born of a different star.

__

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Mudblood. The only reason you got the highest mark was because Draco was hurt."

__

Granger didn't lose her smile, but it gained a new edge. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

__

Pansy barred her teeth. "It's because you're slow."

__

Granger delicately rolled up her graded assignment. Draco half thought she was about to strike Pansy up the nose with it, like a maltrained mutt. "Evidently not." 

Pansy bristled, and with a deep groan Draco settled his bag on his shoulder and went to rescue her from her own hubris.

"Come on, Pansy," Draco said, stepping up beside her and nudging her elbow, "she's _really_ not worth it."

"She's worth twelve of you, Malfoy." Wealsey snarled, piping up from where the remaining golden trio had been standing watch.

Draco tried to give a cavalier shrug but it came out a bit lackluster. 

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked, putting her hands on her hips. "You are so much smarter than these idiots."

Draco went to shrug again, actually getting quite bored with the confrontation when Granger stepped forward, squaring herself off with him.

"You're _not smart,_ " she said, with only the faintest quiver in her voice, "and nothing you do will ever change that." Potter and Weasley flanked her as she continued. "You could study until you go blind, until you've read every book in the world a thousand times over and still you wouldn't be smart, Draco Malfoy. You could become the highest intellectual in whichever academic field you prefer and you'd _always_ come up short."

A bit blindsided, and actually feeling a stirring inside him Draco asked, "and why is that?"

Granger laughed. "Because you're _prejudiced._ " Draco rolled his eyes, but Granger continued, "and prejudice is born of _ignorance_. You _ignore_ information that doesn't affirm you and your bloody pureblood crap. You ignore any facts or figures that would dare question you or your father's greatness. Even when the answer is staring you in the face you sidestep it like every other bigot. It's how your lot justifies the hurt you cause."

_It's easier if I just ignore it._

Emotion surged faster than a spell; flaring up, consuming him, then dying out in a single breath, leaving him rattled and jerky. It was absurd, and it's not like Draco hadn't been lectured by others before about his status, but the idea that he could have missed something, something crucial, because he'd always been taught to ignore dissent flared up his old and weathered paranoia.

"Then convince me, mudblood. If I've been neglecting my studies in certain areas then show me."

Granger laughed again, a kind of bitter triumph. "People like you have to want to change, and I know you never will."

Draco frowned. That's not true, he'd already changed. He was tripping over how much he'd changed every day.

"But furthermore," Granger bit out, "it's not my duty to teach you how not to be a bigot. I don't owe you anything."

Potter whooped. Weasley was staring up at Granger like she'd cured dragon pox. Granger - oh - Granger was leaving.

"We don't want anything from you! You frizzy-haired mudblood bitch!" Pansy screamed, clutching at Draco's arm too tightly.

Draco didn't feel well.

***

It hurt to think about, so why should he think about it?

The logic wasn't exactly sound in theory, but in this context it made sense. Draco didn't have to think about the future because the person he's supposed to be in the present wouldn't know about the future. Forgetting and ignoring made sense for his survival and assimilation.

But it wasn't true.

Draco gasped and sat up in his four-poster bed, shoving his head in his hands. He'd joined the Dark Lord because he hadn't understood what it entailed, but he'd stayed and seen horrors beyond imagination because he knew running away would doom him, as well as his family. He'd suffered every day for a future where everything was over and Draco could live in peace, if not just live. Present-day pain to stave off future pain. That was what he'd lived by. He needed to do the same now, now that he had a chance to actually have the ideal life he'd always conjured for himself. He needed to stop running.

_The Dark Lord returns this year._

The thought finally finding purchase in his brain sent shivers throughout him. It's a truth, a truth he'd hoped he wouldn't have to face. That if he just pretended it wasn't going to happen then it would be so. But Draco was always a shit liar.

Draco groaned, pressing fingers to his eyelids. Everything was progressing the same as it had before, as well as he could remember. Which meant everything would happen the exact same. The only variable, the only asset towards changing things, was Draco himself.

_Therefore._

Therefore the only way to be safe, to change things so that things stay the same, is for Draco to do it himself.


End file.
